In the midst of life I woke to find myself living in an old house beside Brick Lane in the East End of London

Mr Pussy in Spring

March 20, 2012

by the gentle author

In spite of the visible signs, I am almost superstitious to write of spring, lest by doing so I invite an onslaught of snowstorms, tempests and whirlwinds. Yet I do believe that the change of season is irrevocably upon us, as confirmed by a particularly unpleasant experience I had recently.

At dawn, it is commonly Mr Pussy’s habit to stand at the bedside by my pillow and claw at the sheet to wake me. A recurring trait which causes me constant frustration now that first light comes earlier each day, especially if I have worked late the night before and wish to sleep longer. As an attempt to pacify him without opening my eyes, I reach out a hand with a crooked finger to stroke him on the head, in the vain hope that he will be satisfied and leave me in peace.

At a recent daybreak, Mr Pussy woke me in the usual manner, clawing and crying in delighted excitement, and I stretched out my finger blindly. To my surprise, he did not lift up his head to meet my finger. Instead, my touch fell upon another furry surface, soft and silky, yet curiously inanimate. In my surprise, I rolled over and opened my eyes to see what it was. It was a huge dead rat. And Mr Pussy stood over it with a look of foolish pride like those game hunters in old photographs. He had brought his fresh catch as a gift to share with me.

The forlorn carcass of the brown rat lay in a foetal pose, looking strangely innocent with its fluffy pale belly – like an abandoned soft toy – and immaculately clean despite its reputation for for filth. But with its long teeth splayed at a gross angle, it was a sight that I did not choose to contemplate upon my bedroom floor at dawn, especially placed by Mr Pussy upon a pile of yesterday’s clothes and giving the credible impression of sleeping there. Much to Mr Pussy’s dismay, a dustpan and brush served to dispatch the rat into the bin and I threw the contaminated laundry into the basket. Then, to his surprise, I shut the bedroom door in his face and went back to sleep, ignoring his melodramatic plaintive cries of exclusion.

For the first time this year, the nights are sufficiently mild for a creature as conservative and protective of his own comfort as Mr Pussy to go out and prowl around in the dark. This is my incontrovertible evidence of spring and the rat was a harbinger of it. For the first time this year, I open the sash window wide and Mr Pussy sits upon the sill taking the airs. For the first time this year, I dig in my garden and Mr Pussy keeps me company. For the first time this year, I return to find him sunning himself on the wall. And, each morning since his banishment, I open my bedroom door to discover Mr Pussy sitting placidly outside, perched upon the couch. Ever gracious, he waits there as a sentinel, my guardian at the gate.

It is spring and now, after peaceful uninterrupted sleep I wake to enjoy the sunshine while, as the nights grow milder, Mr Pussy goes roving to satisfy his duties in vermin control.

Mr Pussy looks so like my Jazz. Who wakes me by reaching under the sheets and slashing or by pat, pat, PATTING my face with his claws nearly sheathed. He has twice now brought home a rat – and was as pleased as Punch.

Mr Pussy clearly worships you. My mother’s cat used to bring her mouse-shaped leaves which was very clever of it and much preferred to creatures. Beautiful photos, specially the second one, quite spirit-lifting.

Thank you for making me laugh out loud. You do have a way with words. At least the rat was dead. Mrs Pru, our old cat, never mastered the knack of killing larger prey and once brought a live blackbird into the house. What fun we had trying to persuade it to leave.

Spring has indeed arrived! I was lucky enough to be in London for the party of the year (yours!), and was delighted to see daffodils and crocus in bloom at Bunhill Fields, Postman’s Park, and so many other places that I know about thanks to your blog.
Great to see Mr. Pussy again, too… and what beautiful cyclamen!

He is a splendid fellow and obviously excellent company. Not half an hour ago I glanced up at my framed For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry and saw the image of Jeoffry trying to catch a bird. You can’t keep a good cat down. I well remember preventing our own (sadly deceased) cat from wrestling a wood pigeon in through the back door one bright morning.

Always a treat to hear of Mr. Pussy’s doings! My cat is not allowed outside, but she gets much pleasure from “hunting” for her favorite toys in the toy basket, then making her way down the long corridor to my bedroom, prey in mouth, meowing plaintively all the way. She then deposits it beside my bed to receive the obligatory pat on the head and words of praise.

Oh Dear you have deeply offended Mr. Pussy. To you it was a dead rat (they are in fact edible and nutricious) to Mr. Pussy this was a good meal that he had caught for you, if it was not so he would have left it where he had finished with it.
Cat persons (not owners, nobody owns a cat, he owns you) must when receiving such a gift stroke and thank him and only dispose of it when he has gone. Many where the dead rats, mice, birds and frogs that I took with gratitude from my poor old cat Dusty.
Make it up to him !
Gary

it is only right to set mr pussy some parametres within which to opperate , you couldnt possibly awake to a dreaded r-t again.
Seems he is fine with this new set of ground rules after all he is an intelligent cat , like his dear owner.

For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in
his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant
quickness.
For he keeps the Lord’s watch in the night against the adversary.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For he purrs in thankfulness when God tells him he’s a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him, and a blessing is lacking in
the spirit.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.

Oh please, Gentle Author, this oohh ! terrible awful thing he brought you for a gift! Hugh! cannot even say the creautures name, they make me cringe! And yet, this is what it was, for you a kind and loving gift from dear Mr Pussy to say ‘HOW GOOD I AM’ and await his reward. I remember one of my cats bringing home mouse so proud was he sitting upright full of pride whilst I screamed because the mouse suddenly arose from the dead and ran for cover! I abandoned my poor husband to trash the room in his effort to find the dreaded gift – a black feild mouse which he promptly disposed of in the garden. Oh the pleasures of living with cats. My most memorable gift was from my very first Siamese. Little barrel bellied Chintzy aged 6 months, came home bouncing wth delight and pride through his cat flap with a piece of cooked bacon for my husband and a pink iced bun for me and merrily sat in front of us presenting our treats so proud he was that it brought tears to our eyes! We have no idea where he could have got these pieces of still warm food!

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Unauthorized use or duplication of these words and pictures without written permission is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Spitalfields Life with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Spitalfields Life is nourished by a weekly vegetable box from Leila's Shop in Calvert Avenue.